


Mind Me Not

by dimmockdock



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Gen, Kind of like Inception?, Mind descriptions, Minds are like places to me, No Plot, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:02:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimmockdock/pseuds/dimmockdock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Clint's mind is a city, Bruce's is a house</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mind Me Not

If Clint’s mind is a city, Bruce’s is a house, large and sprawling at the edges. The floors are dusty and well worn, and occasionally they give way underneath your feet. When you walk through it, you feel as if you must walk quietly, out of fear of waking something or someone. If you peer outside the dusty windows, you can catch a glimpse of the outside, and outside you will never reach.

If Bruce’s mind is a house, Steve’s is a city; sun-bleached stairs leading up to buildings, and the pavement would scorch the bottom of your feet if you were barefoot. You can hear a baseball game playing on the radio inside the apartment building you walk past, and children run past you with baseball gloves in hand. The sun beats down on your head and a newspaper blowing in the stiff summer wind bumps against you leg. You can see an ocean on your left if you squint, peaking out at you in between buildings, and the smell of salt brushes underneath your nostrils. 

If Steve’s mind is a city, Tony’s is a high rise building, cool metal and sharp edges. Your footsteps echo through the hallway and sunlight streams through the huge windows on your right. You peer through doorways, and many of the rooms are workshops, labs of some sort. The further up you go, the more you feel like someone (or something) is watching you. Sometimes, in the background, you can vaguely hear loud rock music playing, but it always stops before you pin down what song it is.

If Tony’s mind is a high rise building, Thor’s is a forest, leaf litter underneath your feet and unmoving eyes in the trees. The air is alive with bird songs and the rustling of your footsteps, but the further in you go, the quieter it gets. It’s almost as if the forest has sent out a warning to all the animals to leave now, before things get to bad. As you near the center, it changes. The leaves block out almost all of the light, and your left in dusky, leaf filtered light. A heavy fog rolls around your ankles and you bite down a shiver. Behind you, you hear something moving. It’s time.

If Thor’s mind is a forest, Natasha’s is a building, hard and unforgiving, yet somehow yielding and flexible. It’s almost an office building, but it’s too sinister to be anything like that. The floors are concrete, and they’re scorching hot in some places and freezing in others. The walls have posters tacked up, and faces far too young to be soldiers and far too broken to be anything but stare out at you. They’re eyes grow more pleading the farther you dive in. You can almost hear their voices, high and wrecked, pleading in languages you don’t even understand. The windows on you’re right face into a courtyard, gray and with no grass. People are gathered below, sparing on the unforgiving concrete that is the heart of this building.

If Natasha’s mind is a building, Clint’s is a city, dusty and whittled bone thin. Children run in the streets, ragged clothes hanging off their bruised bodies. They seem to have no purpose, no gender, no homes. Faded posters for a circus stick to the walls like sweat to your body, corners flapping in the breeze. The ringmaster’s eyes seem to follow you were ever you move, commanding you to go to the show. In the distance, you can see three red striped tents and the yells coming from them (or maybe not, sound is a funny thing in his mind). Your feet are caked with dust and you long for the fountain you saw on your left to be working, but the stone fish seem to mock you instead.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is my first thing posted on here. It's kind of based off of shooting stars, falling objects by zihna, a lovely fic that everyone should read. Um, thanks for reading, I guess.


End file.
